The Wilmingtonian., 1887-12-24
ga HAPPY raouaHr STRIKES AE.n

/ started for Richmond in July, 1889, a lad
1S years old, junior in college, and chatting
to be at tito double quick it after John
Browns soul, which, since it did moi require
knapsack, or three days rations, or can
teen, or halt during the night for sleep,
was always marching on. On the night be-
fore Christmas, 1862, was a detected young
patriot, wishing I hadn't done it, shivering
in the open weather mile back of the Rap
pahannock, on tho reserve picket, and eI-
posed to a wet snowstorm. There was not
stick of wood within five miles OF us; all cut
down, even the roots Of trees dug up and
burned. We lay down on our rubber blankets,
pulled our woolen blankets over us, spooned
it as close as we could get, to steal warmth
from our comrades, and tried not to cry.
Next morning the snow lay heavy and
deep, and the men, when walked and looked
about me, reminded me of a church grave
yard in winter. The snow covered US all,
and my comrades seemed as If a small ceme-
tery-just like a graveyard and its mounds.
'Fall in for picket dutyi There, come,
Moore, McManus, Paxton, Perrine; Pollock;
fall imp We fell in, Of course. No break
fast; chilled to the marrow; snow foot
deep. We frightened our belts on our empty
stomachs seized our rifles, and marched to
the river to take our six hours Oh duty.
1t was Christmas Day, 1862. Sand so this
is war; my old me said to himself, while he
paced in the wet snow his two hours on the
rivers brink, Sand am out here to shoot
that lean, lank, coughing, cadaverons look
ing butternut fellow over the river. So this
is war; this is being soldier; this is the genu-
Inc article; this is H. Greeley's '0n to Rich
mond.' Well wish he were only here inmy
place, running to keep warm; pounding his
arms and breast to make the chilled blood
circulate So this is war, tramping up and
down this river my fifty yards with wet feet,
empty stomach, swollen nose"
Alas when lying under the trees i'll the coli
lege campus last j." war meant tonne NOR
Eal music; gorgeous brigadiers in blue ano
gold; tall young men in line shiningin brass.
War meant to me tumultuous memories of
Bunker Hill, esesar,s TActh aegsor, St2harga
of the Six Hundred--anything but this
Pshaw! | wish were home Let me see
Homel Gods country. a tear2-yes it is
tear. What are they doing at honiel This is
Christmas Day, 1862 Home2 Well, stock
ings on the wall, candy, turkey, fun, merry
Christmas, and the face of the girl | left be-
hind. Another tear1 Yes, couldn't help it;
was only IS, and there was such a contrast
between Christmas, 1862, on the Rappahan-
mock, and other Christmases. Yes there was
girl, too-such sweet eyes; such long lashes;
such q low, tender VOlcel ''COHle, moNe
quicksrl Who goes therem Shift the rifle
from one aching shoulder to the other.
"Hello, Johnny, what are you up tor The
river was narrow, but deep and swift. 1t
was a wet cold, not freezing cold. There
was no ice-too swift for that
"Hello, Johnny, what you coughing SO
forl"
'sYank, with no overcoat shoes full OF
holes, nothing to eat but parched corn and
tobacco, and with the derned Yankee snow a
foot deep there is nothin' left-nothin' but to
get up a cough by way of protestin' against
| this Internal treatment of the body We uns,
Yank, all have cough over here, and there's
| no sayin' which will run us to hole first, the
cough or your bullets"
The snow still fell; the keen wind, raw ond
fierce, cut to the bone. 1t was Gads worst
weather in Gods forlornest, bleakest spot OF
ground, that Christmas day of '62 on the
Rappahannock, a half mile below the tow
of Fredericksburg. But come, pick up youl
PROSTATE pluck, you shivering private
Surely there is enough dampness arount
without adding to it your tears.
"Lets laugh, boys.n
"Hello, Johnnym
"Hello yourself, Yankw -
t'Merry Christmas, JohnnyT
"Same to you, Yank!" ...-
"Say, Johnny, got anything to trade"
'Parched corn and tobacco-the size of ou
Christmas, Yank."